


Soften All the Edges

by roebling



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Embarrassment, Feeding, Feedism, Food Kink, Force-Feeding, Gluttony, Kink Shaming, Other, Robot Tentacles?, Stuffing, Teasing, Tentacles, There's a blink and you'll miss it moment of Hunk/Shiro, Weight Gain, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: When Hunk complains about the Castle of Lion's monotonous menu of green food goo, Coran suggests he take a look under the hood to try to repair the nutrition unit's gourmet mode. While tinkering, he accidentally triggers survival mode, with some very expansive consequences.





	Soften All the Edges

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This story is a fetish story that deals explicitly with weight, eating and body image. I've tried to tag as explicitly as possible, but as always if you need more information please comment and I'll do my best to let you know what you're getting in to. Although there is minimal sexual content in this story I've tagged it 'Non-Con' because there is at least what might be construed as non-consenual force feeding. By a robot. 
> 
> This is set in a vaguely season 2 time frame, and is hopefully not too egregiously out of character, although it is first and foremost shameless kink fic, and should be taken as such. 
> 
> This was written pretty quickly and not edited by a second party, so I cannot promise there are no errors. 
> 
> It was inspired by and owes a huge debt to [donutwolf's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutwolf/pseuds/donutwolf) delightful Hunk/Shiro stuffing fic [No Questions Asked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8751514/chapters/20062357), which you should go check out if you haven't already. I want to thank them for letting me play around in the periphery of their universe :)

The thing nobody ever mentions about being a galactic warrior charged with saving the universe is how incredibly boring it is. 

Hunk sighs, and flicks his finger across the data screen. It's eleven o'clock at night and he's in the kitchen reading the manual for the Castle of Lion's nutrition unit. Coran had sent him the files after he'd complained yet again about the terrible monotony of green goo. 

"It's a designer model, you know. The Goo Fieri Food-a-mazing 6000 -- top of the line at the time," Coran had said, hands on his hips. He slapped the nutrition unit, which beeped unhappily. Everyone cringed away. Memories of the last time it went on the fritz were still vivid. "I still remember some of the fine meals this old girl produced. There was a split-grooph soup we served while dining with the Yrralian ambassador that was ..." He kisses his fingers for dramatic effect. 

Hunk, skeptical, held his plate up to the dispenser. It had shuddered, and one sad dollop of green goo dropped onto Hunk's plate. He rolled the goo around the plate and sighed. 

"Looks greener than ever," he'd said, as optimistically as he could manage. 

Coran, looking slightly abashed, suggested that maybe it was still not quite back to full working order after being infected with the Galran crystal's energy. Hunk, he suggested, could dive in and give the old girl a tune up, and she'd be back to churning out gourmet meals in no time. 

It hadn't been at the top of Hunk's list, exactly, but man, deep space is really boring. In between those episodes of 'oh-shit-oh-shit-I'm-going-to-die' adrenaline and terror when they encounter the Galrans, there is literally *nothing* to do.

Well, not quite nothing. Shiro, Allura, and Coran are always doing leader-y, adult-y things that Hunk doesn't really want to think too much about if he can help it. Keith keeps busy training. Pidge is already fluent in Altean and has proposed half a dozen improvements to the castle. Lance ... well. Hunk isn't quite sure what Lance does, but that guy can keep himself occupied making faces in a mirror. Which he does. For practice, apparently.

Hunk tried to take up knitting, but after making everyone on the ship a scarf and hat set it got a little old. Tonight, wide awake and sick of eating green goo, he finally figured he'd take a look at the nutrition unit. 

If nothing else, it's so boring it might actually put him to sleep. 

But ten pages into the manual things aren't looking good. The green goo is filling, nutritious sustenance food, but the unit should be capable of much more. The 'gourmet mode', when enabled, should expand the unit's available flavors and textures but from what Hunk can tell the seasonizer is shot, and they definitely need a new texturating sprocket. 

But until they figure out how they're being tracked, there's no way that Shiro is going to let them stop and pick up new parts.

Hunk sighs, and leans heavily on the counter. Green goo it is, then. 

He's still not even the slightest bit tired. All of this stress lately has gotten to him. He stays up worrying about _everything_. He reads through the next few pages of the manual, which tout some of the amazing dishes the nutrition unit should be capable of producing -- Altean lasagna with garmbyl sauce, fresh loaves of bread, roast breast of waark with orange clove demi-glace. 

Hunk's stomach grumbles. He doesn't even know what a waark is, but that sounds _amazing_. 

He turns the page again, but the parade of delicacies is over. The next section details the 'survival' mode. Hunk skims a few paragraphs that talk about codeword triggers and calorie-dense preparations and life-threatening situations. 

He doesn’t want to read this. At this point, the kitchen is just about the only thing that's _not_ trying to kill him. 

He rests his head on the cold metal counter. "What I wouldn't give cheeseburger right now. Or a cheesesteak. Yeah. With fried onions and that orange processed cheese stuff." His stomach growls again, louder this time. "I'm tired of space adventures. I want to get off this ride and go home and get some real food. I'm so hungry I might die."

The unit shudders suddenly, and some red Altean text on the front display lights up. Hunk can hear gears grinding and he wonders if the gelatinous oscillator is loose again. It needs to be replaced too, but they haven't been able to stop anywhere to look for a new one because -- oh yeah, because they're being hunted by an evil space empire.

God. His life is the worst.

There's a metallic shriek and then a dozen of the food dispensers slip free from the wall. Oh no. This is not good. It’s on the attack again. He must have knocked something loose while he was tinkering earlier. Hunk takes a slow step back. 

The arms flail about aimlessly, shooting gobs of food goo that stick to the ceiling and drip slowly to the floor. Shielding his face with his arm, he makes his way over to the control panel and starts punching buttons. He knows the sequence to activate the manual override, but the unit isn't responding. He's really going to have to tell Shiro they have no choice but to stop and get a replacement, because ...

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he realizes two of the wriggling metallic arms have curled around his waist.

"Hey! Hey! What are you doing?" This is not good. This is really, really, not good. One of the dispenser arms is curved in front of his face. The metal nozzle gleams. It's like giant, alien food dispensing robot snake, and it looks ready to strike. 

Hunk hates snakes. He swallows.

"Listen, I'm sorry I insulted your food goo. It's delicious food goo." The evil robot food snake cocks its head. Encouraged, Hunk continues, "I could eat it three meals a day. Heck -- I do eat it three meals a day. I --mmph mtmmphmum."

His words are cut off as the alien food snake darts forward, almost quicker than he can see, right into his open mouth.

He gags. The metal nozzle is just a little too big to fit comfortably. His lips are stretched tight. He tries to spit it out, but his hands are pinned by unyielding metal arms. He can't move and he can't call for help. His chest goes tight and a bubble of fear starts to well up in his chest. He's almost at the point of panic when something delicious fills his mouth, heavy on his tongue. He swallows, and swallows again. There's a steady flow from the nozzle -- not so much that he's choking, but enough that he has to keep swallowing so he won't.

The thing isn't trying to kill him. It's trying to feed him, and whatever this stuff is it's a hell of a lot better than the regulation food goo.

It's thick and creamy, almost like a milkshake, but not cold. It's sweet with a hint of cinnamon and something else he can't quite place. His jaw starts to ache, but there's something soothing about the gurgle of the machine and the steady slide of this new and improved food goo down his throat.

He had been hungry, after all.

He breathes out heavily through his nose and sucks harder. The metal arms around his belly and his wrists relax marginally, and slowly ease him towards the floor. His back slides against the metal wall and he ends up sitting with his legs spread out in front of him. He keeps pulling at the delicious, rich liquid. His stomach gurgles again. He rests his hands on his belly and rubs softly. 

He feels like some switch has been flipped in his brain. Although he's a big guy and although he loves food, Hunk has always considered himself a gourmand rather than a glutton. He prizes quality over quantity, for the most part. Right now though, the heavy sated feeling of eating too much is filling him up, just like the rich creamy food is filling him up, and it feels _so good_. All the fear and loneliness and anxiety is gone, replaced with a stolid calm that spreads as he sucks down more of the goo. 

He has no idea how long it's been but he’s starting to get pretty full. Hunk is a big guy and he can eat a lot, but he feels that ache-y pain in his belly that means he’s almost topped off. He's already put on a little weight since this whole thing started -- he's not on rations like he was at the garrison, and there are no more required phys-ed classes. But now his gut looks massive, like he's swallowed a beach ball. It's not possible but somehow he's visibly _fatter_ than he was just a little while ago. He slides his hands down his belly, smoothing over the big bulge of it, to the soft flabby part below his belly button. He squeezes a whole handful of new pudge. 

He's _huge_. 

He jiggles that new, soft belly fat and stifles a moan. He's always liked eating, always appreciated good food, always had a big appetite, but he's never eaten like this before. There have been shameful moments where he's imagined pushing himself past any reasonable limit of taste or sense, but he's never been brave enough to pursue those fantasies. Right now, he doesn't have a choice. The machine is filling him up. He presses harder into his belly. It's round and firm under that newly plush layer of softness. 

He feels so full -- his belly aches and his jaw aches and the sweet goo slides down his throat. He feels pinned down by his huge, heavy gut.

It feels good. 

He moans and suckles at the nozzle. It's embarrassing, or it would be if he weren't so turned on and full and greedy hungry horny that he can't even worry about being embarrassed. He's always considered himself a man of refined tastes, but this is something different. This is greed. This is gluttony. This is wanting to be full and heavy and replete, stuffed beyond all sense or reason.

He leans heavily back against the wall. Both hands cradle his belly, swollen and straining against the waistband of his pants. It looks so big and round he can barely believe it's him. The ache in his stomach is sharp now, and he can't swallow as fast. Each mouthful of goo goes down a little slower than the last. His cheeks bulge, full of the thick liquid. A rivulet dribbles out of the corner of his mouth, rolls down his chin. He whimpers. He's never felt so big and fat and full in his entire life.

It feels _really_ good.

There's a metallic ping as the button on his pants pops off. His big, swollen gut oozes forward, free from its bonds, pushing down his zipper. 

He shudders. He's never been this turned on his whole life. If he weren't so full and fat and intent on filling up with more of the food goo, he'd reach down jerk himself off, but the thought of trying to reach around his massive gut is daunting. He sucks even harder at the nozzle. His jaw has gone numb, and some of the stuff has spilled down down onto his shirt. His chest looks soft and flabby. He's got _moobs_. He can feel his cheeks heat up red. He's never going to hear the end of this from Lance. 

Oh god. Lance. Pidge. Allura. Keith. Coran. _Shiro_. They're all going to see him like this, see what a big fat ass he's let himself become. He wonders if they'll tease him. He wonders if they'll be able to tell how eager he is for it, how much this new heavy weight in his gut and all this new flabby soft lard he’s packed on turn him on. He closes his eyes and imagines Shiro frowning at him, muscular arms crossed over his lean chest. 

'Hunk, how could you let yourself turn into such a pig?' Dream Shiro says. He looks so disappointed. 'Look. You're so big your fat ass doesn't even fit in your pilot chair any more.' 

Hunk -- in this too-real fantasy -- looks down. He's in his Palladin armor, and he's _enormous_. It barely holds him in. He's wedged into his lion's seat, but he's not sure how he's going to get out. His ass overflows the edges of the seat, and his massive apron of a belly overflows the arms and rests flabbily on the console. 

Shiro reaches down and grabs a whole handful of Hunk's jiggly fat. 'You love this, don't you, porker? You just want to get even fatter, don't you?' He wobbles Hunk's gut, hard, and he can feel the movement all over his soft, obese body. 

With a shudder, Hunk moans and comes in his pants. 

The nutrition unit goes shudders and goes silent.

Hunk opens his eyes. One of his own hands is clutching a big fat roll of his belly. He's still in the kitchen, and real Shiro is nowhere to be seen. He pulls weakly at the nozzle in his mouth, but the flow of sweet goo slows to a trickle and then stop. The dispenser arm falls from his mouth and then recoils into the wall.

For a wild moment, he's sad that there's no more. His breathing is heavy, and he can barely move. The slight pressure of his fingertips prodding his belly is nauseating and thrilling, and he's still not quite sure what that little fantasy there was. Shiro would never say those things, and Hunk wouldn’t want him to -- right? But all those feelings are peripheral. Most of all he feels full and heavy. Sated. Safe. There's something about the massive, solid, centered feeling of his stomach packed full of rich food that makes Hunk feel better than he has in days. With so much in his belly, he doesn't have room to worry about anything else.

He closes his eyes and falls into a heavy, deep sleep. 

When he wakes up, it takes him a moment to realize where he is. Groaning, he pushes himself into a sitting position. His fat gut falls forward into his lap. He cradles it. Hunk's never really had much of an opinion one way or another about his size. He's not a skinny guy, of course, but he's never really considered himself fat, either. He's just big. He feels fat now though. He's soft and jiggly and _fat_ in a way he's never been before. He can squeeze whole handfuls of wobbly pudge. 

"So _that's_ your survival mode?" He says, glancing up at the nutrition unit.

It doesn't say anything, because it's just an alien machine, after all.

He gets to his feet, slowly. His pants are a sticky mess, and he feels all off balance with his stomach so swollen and heavy. The kitchen is a mess too, but Hunk can't imagine doing anything about that now. Coran will take care of it. He turns off the lights and staggers to his bunk, waddling slowly and holding his pants up with one hand and praying he doesn't run into any of the others.

Luck is on his side, because he doesn't.

If there's one thing about being not-quite-kidnapped by aliens and their giant magic robot cats that definitely beats life at the garrison, it's having his own room. As soon as the door slides shut, Hunk takes off his ruined pants. His belly bulges forward even more heavily. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"Ahhh," he says. "That feels way better."

He pulls off his jacket and shirt. Standing his just boxers, his belly looks even bigger. It bulges out from his body massively, and hangs down onto his thighs. His chest has softened into two slabs of fat that rest on his gut. His thighs are thick with more than muscle now, and his ass is so big it's straining the seat of his boxers. His face is fatter, with pudgy cheeks and a big double chin. 

Hunk slaps the side of his gut. It's so full there's not much give, but he still jiggles all over. He trembles at the pain and pleasure all mixed together.

He turns off the light and crawls into bed. He's going to have to deal with this tomorrow -- diet and start working out with Keith, or something. He can't stay like this, right? He can't just stay a huge fat pig, right? 

What would Shiro think? 

He lies on his side with his big belly resting next to him on the bed. He rubs the big bulge of it and closes his eyes, thinking about how good it had felt to be held there, how good it had felt to be pumped full of that sweet, rich goo. How good it had felt to fill his stomach to the point of bursting. How good his hand feels on his belly, and how much better it would feel if it were someone else's hand. 

There’s one other perk to these Palladin rooms. They all have their own mini nutrition units. Built in room service, as Lance calls it. None of them use it much, but ... 

Hunk is still hugely full, but he's not in pain any longer. He pats his belly again. He could fit a little more, he thinks. Maybe. Just a few more mouthfuls … 

It's worth a try.

"Oh," he says, in a choked voice. "I'm so hungry I think I might die." 

A red light flicks on in the panel on the wall. Hunk trembles, and opens his mouth.


End file.
